Roses in the Garden
by Chibifluffydragon3
Summary: just some standard fluff for your soul enjoy


England sat in his chair at the world meeting table, as usual, ignoring a certain American's silly rants. Italy sitting next to a frustrated Germany. All was perfectly normal in their own strange world. Well mostly. That damned Frenchmen had failed to show his scratchy face. England sighed and stretched his fingers out, grabbing his pen and taking notes on Germany's presentation. The man had some great ideas, yes, but some unsettled reparations made him a low man on the pole. Like the genius he was, Arthur liked to put them into action himself. He glanced at the clock, its little gears ticking away forever in the dusty corner of the room. 11:27. The Englishman's hand rose into the air and he coughed to catch Germanys attention. The broad man turned.

"Germany recognizes his ally England, Speak please,"

"Don't you believe it's a good time to break for lunch? I have a feeling we all would rather leave now and eat instead of waiting until we are all weak with hunger,"

Germany nodded at him.

"All in favor?" America and Italy raised both hands and waved them in the air, while most of the other (more normal) nations raised one and nodded back. Germany, satisfied by the show of hands, turned off the projector. "Okay, be back in an hour and no later than 12:37, agreed?" a murmur of assent spread and soon all were off to fetch a good lunch and relax for a while.

The man's brown shoes clicked on the tile in the garden as he made his way to a bench among the blooming flowers. He had made himself some food that morning and sat down to eat his simple curry, almost spilling it on his suit when he heard a chuckle from behind him. He spun around to see France standing in the roses, holding one in his hand. The Frenchmen smiled brightly at him and came over and sat on the bench next to England.

"What do you want, frog?" The words huffed from his lips, slick with angst and the stuffiness of an ancient library. His glare held ice but to the Frenchman's eyes it was a drink of mountain water.

"I just was wondering what my Angleterre was doing out here alone so, I, naturally came and fixed the situation," The smile never dropped from his cheeks as he spoke to the man seated next to him. He found it séduisant, how the shaggy blond man's hair puffed in his agitation and his cheeks dusted with pink. It brought out the small, pale freckles on his face. He laughed to himself at the sight.

"What do you want really Francis? I highly doubt you care if I'm lonely," France pouted and reached a hand out onto the bottom curve of England's face, the man going a few more shades of red away from his pride. The man leaned forward and kissed the tip of his nose.

"I do care England why would I not? We have been close for years, non? At this point the poor man was a shade of red only matched by the cross of his flag, in short he wanted to fall on the ground and burry himself under the flowers. He just might.

"b-bloody hell, you don't have to get so close do you? I-I mean not like it matters to me at all, I mean why would it that's silly France you know I don't care for your silly antics get off and go back to your pond you silly frog," France sighed and leaned forward and let his forehead touch softly with the other mans.

"you are so load when you're trying to hide from your own heart Angleterre," England still going on and on sputtered to a stop in his ramblings.

"w-what do you mean France stop being weird no one likes it when you do that you know that don't you? Aha sure you do I tell you all the time don't I,"

"Oui, you do but Angleterre,"

"What could you want now frog? A fly"

"Only if you're the fly." With those words he turned his head to the right and softly placed his lips on his Angleterre's not forced, but softly,full of whispered words and promises made in the dark to no living being but himself , words laced with a gentle wind of his undying love. He slipped his red rose into englands breast pocket and pulled away. He smiled, kissing the shorter man on the cheek and walked away to leave him to sort out his own thoughts.


End file.
